


not so different after all

by badgertablet



Series: there is no softness (left in me) [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Damian Wayne, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Graphic Violence, bruce be like: (feels an emotion) hm. don’t like that. time to punch it away, damian has some strong cognitive distortions in this one fellas, post batman #81, salt fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:33:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgertablet/pseuds/badgertablet
Summary: He sees the blow coming, and thinks of half a dozen ways he could block.( But he doesn’t. )





	not so different after all

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags please!!!!!! 
> 
> this fic is centric about child abuse and how damian perceives and justifies it. that’s it’s own warning. the extent to the violence though is (spoilers) a really hard backhand, but that’s still abuse. 
> 
> there’s some pretty hardcore cognitive distortions here too as dami is an unreliable narrator so be warned of that too

He sees the blow coming, and thinks of half a dozen ways he could block. Time seems to slow down like he’s moving through syrup; he can see his father’s anger-blank eyes, the way his jaw flexes as he grits his teeth, and the sweat that’s beading up around his brow. And then it makes contact, and Bruce — Batman, _Father_ — backhands him.

It’s strong enough to send him sprawling onto the cold concrete of the Batcave, and Damian blinks, slow, absentmindedly studying the rough ground below him as his mind catches up with his body. To his shame, he feels... betrayed. And he shouldn’t. He’s being disciplined. There is nothing — _nothing_, despite society’s narrowminded views — wrong with that. The taste of hot iron fills his mouth; he was struck hard enough to have the soft inner flesh of his mouth sliced open by his teeth. His cheek stings, and his palms and the sides of his legs begin to redden and complain against the rock, so Damian rolls from his half-fallen position onto his hands and knees, spitting out a globule of blood when he’s steady. The sound is deafening in the silence of the cave, and he resists looking up from the floor, and it _rankles_.

( A part of him wants to stand up, and scream and yell and rage at his father because he was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be different. Kind and warm and gentle despite his stony exterior, that’s what Mother told him; he would never hit a child.

But Damian wasn’t a child despite his age. He’s a soldier, born and bred for war and battle and violence, so perhaps Mother is correct. He’s seen how tender he is with Drake and the rest of his brood — despite their many differences — and he’s felt jealousy claw in the back of his throat because that should be him, because he’s the blood son, and he’s _earned_ his father’s love, covered in the scars, the _declarations_ of his adoration — but.

He’s not a child.

Those same scars mark him as different.

And so there will be no tenderness for him. )

Biting back the <strike>sob</strike> snarl ripping it’s way up his throat, he glares downward, but forces his body to relax slowly. He’s showing his weakness, his submission, like when he very first started to train. Eyes lowered, knees bent and hands flat on the ground, open to attack and _vulnerable_, the very picture of respect and obedience. If there is one thing he knows how to do, it is how to admit defeat to a superior.

Because that’s what Father is. His superior. His mentor. There is no room for any sort of relationship outside of this.

( He was a fool for ever thinking otherwise.

And as Mother says; no weakness. No hesitation. No mercy for fools.

This is what he deserves. )

Blood oozes from his mouth thickly, dripping slowly onto the floor, and Damian wants to roughly scrub it off his face. He doesn’t, though. Any major movement like that could be punished. He lets his hands curl into fists as he waits for his father to do something; to move, to breathe, to speak, to hit him again, anything. His cheek throbs.

There’s a quiet shuffle of movement as Bruce takes one step forward, but he stays stock still. Then a hand cards through his hair, and Damian can’t help but want to lean into it and slap it away at the same time. He keeps his eyes down; it’s easier to just stare blankly. Cold fingers graze over the bruising skin, and the man crouched above him inhales, breath hitching quietly. Crumpling down onto his knees with a dull thud, his father’s big hands tug Damian into his chest, and he limply lets the bigger man hug him carefully, like he’s glass.

Damian just slumps into him, loose and pliant like a rag doll, and presses his unmarked cheek against the Batman crest. His father is obviously feeling guilty, if the gentle contact and whispered apologies into his hair mean anything.

( It is when he is feeling remorse that he ever gives a shred of love to him. And even then, it’s borne not out of love, but of guilt.

It’s _fake_. A mimicry.

...but it’s better than nothing. )

“Son,” his father says, “— son, I. God. I’m so sorry, boy. I shouldn’t have...”

Trailing off, he simply starts to rock back and forth, grasping the teen against his chest while hesitantly rubbing his back. Damian lets him. He knows, now. Knows that he should have not let himself feel like things would be different than the League.

( Safe. )

Despite their pretty words and promises, despite four years of living with his paternal side of the family, despite all of their weird, fucked-up dysfunctional relationships — this place is the same.

He’s okay with that, really. It’s for him to become his best self, whether it being League standards or Bat ones. It’s done out of love, and it’s all he’s ever known. And now, he supposes, all he ever will know. If anything, it’s his fault he <strike>is reacting</strike> reacted so poorly, earlier.

“It’s okay,” He tells himself and his father, “It’s _okay_.”

( It really, really, isn’t, a childish — _weak_ —part of him whispers.

Damian silences it.)

**Author's Note:**

> i hate tom king’s bruce, and i hated the 81st issue where king decided boy howdy doo let’s have the man who has severe PTSD about his family being shot in front of him /let his own child— who has already died at least once under his care and who he obsessively tried to resurrect for a year— be captured and basically bluff that an evil version of his dad wouldn’t shoot him via gun/. makes total sense. 
> 
> you can’t tell me king’s batman wouldn’t hit damian. king has made a pattern of violence so i can him continuing it with his youngest. he is legit off the walls and damian, after jason, is the kid that makes him angry the most, so it’s logical that he would abuse him as most of his violence stems from anger. i did make bruce feel guilty because hello, u just hit ur baby! but! he’s still awful tho 
> 
> might continue this with tim, jason, and /shudder/ ric getting involved but it depends on how y’all like it so let me kno in the comments !!


End file.
